


Hate the sin, love the sinner

by Theodosia Tallmadge (SilverDragonoid)



Series: Soul for Sale [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Anal Sex, Canon Era, Clothed Sex, Contracts, Feelings, Impact Play, M/M, Pain Kink, Rough Sex, Sex Crying, Soul 4 Sale AU, Violence, at least its not intended to be but Hamilton turns it into something sexual, demon!ham, demon!laf (mentioned), everybody has fun, non-sexual choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25980622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverDragonoid/pseuds/Theodosia%20Tallmadge
Summary: In which Lafayette is off to France so Washington and Hamilton have time to get to know each other better.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/George Washington, Implied Alexander Hamilton/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/George Washington
Series: Soul for Sale [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1814083
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45





	1. Hate the sin, love the sinner

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of my Soul for Sale series and plays right after the previous part. You **DO** have to read the first part to understand anything.
> 
> I am not a native English speaker. Please feel free to point out any errors you find so I can fix them and learn something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out much more violent and aggressive than I planned. Let's say Washington is a wicked man here with real issues... and Hamilton too. And I'm not able to say whose are worse. You have been warned.

Camp has been busy in the last weeks. Busy enough to be not too surprised about Washington’s new right-hand man without a valid background. He’s following Washington like a shadow, took on most of the general’s paperwork even before a week passed, and yet he’s more productive than any other of Washington’s staff. When Washington never offers a satisfying explanation of where he knows Hamilton from and how he appeared out of nowhere, the soldiers start talking, guessing.

Neither Washington nor Hamilton pay the rumors much mind. Even when it’s said that the new boy might be Washington’s illegitimate son.

All gossip dies as Hamilton works his way into the team and proves his competence. Soon everyone takes his orders as if they are the general’s, though he doesn’t actually get an own command.

* * *

It’s dark when headquarters quiet down gradually. Washington sits in his office, hopes that no one disturbs him, and finishes his last letter for today. His mood is gloomy since Tallmadge reported to him earlier. It wasn’t the news he brought that annoys Washington but Benjamin’s behavior. Usually, the boy is sincerely obedient, loyal, so eager to please his Excellency. Then, there are those moments when his rebellious nature gets the better of him.

Washington puts the draft aside. Hamilton will look over it and perfect it later anyway so he doesn’t have to worry about the probably many errors due to his inability to concentrate.

There’s a knock on the door. Washington hopes for the person that it’s something worth disturbing him.

“Come in.”

Hamilton walks in with a stern look on his face and his hands behind his back, professional as always.

“I’ve dismissed everyone for the night, Sir.” His tone matches his expression.

“Good," Washington responds. But Hamilton stays where he is.

Before Washington can order him to take a rest too, the boy says: “You’re thinking about him again.”

Washington looks at him annoyed. He got used to the demon’s telepathy by now but he still isn’t fond of him intervening in his personal dilemmas.

“He does his work properly," Hamilton confirms, “He will become essential to the success of this army.”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s my damn purpose to know what is beneficial to us and what is disadvantageous.” Anger flickers in his eyes for a moment. But he manages to calm himself.

“Sorry. It wasn’t in my intention to offend you," Washington apologizes, “I’m just…”

“You need to let off some steam," Hamilton summarizes Washington’s tangled thoughts.

In the next moment, Hamilton circles the table and crawls into Washington’s lap. The general’s eyes widen in surprise but then Hamilton’s mouth is already on his. In his mind, Washington doesn't want to answer the kiss, but his lips move on their own, unable to resist.

“You can let everything out on me," Hamilton whispers when he pulls back. This close Washington sees the extent of Hamilton’s hunger in those sly eyes.

Washington’s cock twitches at the prospect, but at the same time, he curses himself for that. “What do you think of me?” he says scandalized.

“I think of you what you are," Hamilton replies, “and not the pretty lie you have built up in your mind.” Then he rolls his hips, grinding against Washington’s clothed cock, and closes his eyes in pleasure. “Please," it’s a chant, “It’s been too long since the last time you touched me. I need you," and he opens his eyes to look into Washington’s, determined, “and you need me.”

Washington rises abruptly but Hamilton dodges the fall by sitting down on the desk. A grimace full of fury is on the general’s face. He isn’t as angry at Hamilton as he is about himself, because his cock – now standing at full attention – remembers how the boy’s ass felt. Though he made a mind-blowing experience, he won’t succumb to his primal urges. That night… wasn’t him. It was the damn magic, he’s sure!

“General," Hamilton breathes, “You’re so proud of what your brother taught you that you’ll deny your own demon the energy recharge he needs? I thought you knew better.”

Today, Washington had to deal with one mouthy brat already, he won’t accept disrespect from another – especially when Lawrence is involved.

Before he realizes what he is doing, he is on Hamilton and squeezes the delicate neck with both hands. Gradually, his grip tightens, but the boy beneath him doesn’t even struggle.

The demon's eyes are not wide with shock but fascination, mouth gaping in awe – not to draw breath. Even worse, he hooks his legs around Washington’s pelvis and pulls him closer.

This enrages Washington further so he crushes the neck harder, determined to wipe that incomprehensible look from Hamilton’s face by making him feel his life slipping away. Sensing the pulse under his fingers gives Washington a feeling of power and superiority in a kind he never felt before. The feeling comes with arousal so he ruts involuntarily forward, grinding their cocks together. Hamilton's helpless whimper makes everything better.

Then, Hamilton’s eyes shimmer with tears and Washington remembers where he is and what he’s doing.

He lets go and backs off slowly, in spite of how beautiful the boy looks when crying. He can't just murder the demon he summoned only weeks ago. Then he would never be able to see his pretty face or feel his grounding presence again.

Hamilton sucks the air in and coughs weakly – it's a dry and painful cough – as his lungs contract. The bruises on his pale neck already darken. His throat is dry and burning.

Washington is so hungry for this boy, he could devour him right now. His helpless, pained state only adds to that. It’s as if Hamilton managed to trigger this side of Washington he keeps in secret his whole life. _You can let the monster out when we’re alone._ He remembers Lafayette’s words _...being_ _more dominant… commandeering… he will be perfectly pliant…_

Hamilton sits up on one elbow and provokes though he is completely hoarse: “Was that all?”

_Be rough._

A second later, Hamilton crushes onto the table from the force he was hit with. His cheek burns where the red imprint of a huge palm blossoms. _Now_ his eyes are wide in surprise as he didn’t anticipate this reaction. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate it nonetheless.

_Pull his hair._

Washington buries his fingers in Hamilton’s heavenly soft hair and yanks until Hamilton’s head is pulled back so far it makes the boy groan from pain. Then, Washington kisses him, presses down on him with his full weight, keeping him trapped, and thrusts his tongue into Hamilton’s mouth. Just as Lafayette predicted, the general is surprised at how compliant Hamilton gives way now, lets him taste, explore, and claim everything.

And so Washington does. All his thoughts are replaced by the need to claim and to own. And to demonstrate that he owns. He wants this boy in a way he never wanted anyone before. Touching the soft skin, feeling those moans and groans before hearing them gives him satisfaction, but makes him hunger for more at the same time.

To Hamilton, Washington is like a force of nature he can't escape from. After the kiss ends, there are teeth on his neck, almost breaking the skin, and the sting in his scalp grows more persistent. But he feels Washington’s change of mind as well. Experiences the concentration of thoughts firsthand – not only through his body but also through his own mind – leaving no room for anything rational.

Hamilton moans and trembles, while Washington fills out his head until there's only the man and nothing else. He burns under the touch and the spark jumps over to Washington.

When Hamilton reaches out to claw his hands into Washington’s uniform, the general grabs his wrists and presses them down next to his head, giving up the grip in Hamilton’s hair by that. Though the demon immediately misses the sensation, the new display of dominance gifts him an overwhelming wave of arousal. The pleased sound that escapes his lungs makes Washington growl in response.

Now Washington shifts and moves one thigh in between Hamilton’s, presses it up against the aching erection, producing even more sweet noises. Meanwhile continuing his ministrations on the delicate neck until it's covered in bruises beyond where the uniform can hide it. Later, Hamilton will have to come up with a plausible story which is hard. What Washington does to him couldn't be simply explained.

But he loves every second. Thrusts his hips into Washington’s thigh, seeking more friction in spite of the already painful pressure. He tries to move his hands but Washington’s grip is relentless. Hamilton feels absolutely helpless. At the raging general's mercy.

The corners of his mouth turn up.

When Washington eventually lets go of his wrists to take off his boots and pull his breeches down with one forceful yank, Hamilton takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around the broad shoulders. But Washington’s having none of it and pins Hamilton’s arms back to the table.

"Stop that," the commander snarls, looking the boy in the eyes and piercing right through his soul, "Don't move."

Hamilton meets his gaze with glowing anticipation. Though he's tempted to test Washington’s limits, he obeys and stays still. There will be other times.

After he's sure Hamilton follows his order, Washington releases his grip and lays his palms on the boy’s hips, while still keeping a watchful eye on him. He caresses the pale skin, runs his hands up and down to the thighs, notices the goosebumps beneath the tips of his fingers.

A fresh drop of precome emerges from the angry red cock. What his pants have soaked up before, can leak freely now. Hamilton's cheeks are red but not from embarrassment – he's forgotten this emotion long ago. He enjoys being scrutinized, preens from how he makes Washington’s bulge twitch with interest. And so he raises his hips.

With that he earns a sharp slap to his left thigh. After a surprised gasp, he meets Washington’s scolding glare. The same palm that hit him is pressed to the slightly reddened, still burning skin so that he has no chance to forget or ignore the warning. Washington doesn’t make it easy for him. 

Hamilton breathes a short “Sorry” and lays limp.

It seems enough to make Washington continue so he grabs Hamilton’s legs and forces them apart. He sinks to his knees and Hamilton can’t suppress sitting up, mouth agape, to watch as his general laps his tongue over Hamilton’s entrance.

“If you come early, I’ll let you pay for it," is all the warning he gets before Washington’s tongue is inside of him, wet and hot and immediately taking him apart. Hamilton throws his head back, hitting the table, and moans. He tries hard not to squirm, while Washington thrusts his tongue in as deep as he can and takes his time with coating Hamilton’s inside with spit, until every part is thoroughly explored, tasted, and memorized.

When he finally pulls out to check on Hamilton, he sees the boy covered in sweat, panting, limp. But his eyes gaze up at Washington with adoration and gratitude. He’s leaking so much it began to form a small puddle on his stomach where his shirt is pulled up a little; a bit is dripping down his side due to his slightly right-tilted position. He looks perfectly wrecked. Just from Washington’s tongue.

In front of his inner eye, Washington pictures in what state he can bring this lithe body when he actually tries. How he would look after a full fifteen minutes of tongue only. How he would scream when Washington uses this tongue on his cock right after. Someday, in a better place, when they can allow it, he will bring his demon to its limits and both shall indulge in the unrestrained sounds they make.

But now are other times. They have to make do.

He gives Hamilton a soft kiss into which the boy melts. It’s not just a break, it’s a promise. A promise of what comes next, but also about protection and safety. Hamilton feels safe in Washington’s strong arms. Though he lets out a few whimpers when Washington somehow brushes his neglected member.

Before he ends the kiss, Washington pushes two fingers into Hamilton’s rather loose hole. Given how easy it already is to push in, Hamilton must be really relaxed. Of course there is a bit of clenching alongside the lusty moan pressed against Washington’s lips, but he stays calm and lets Washington do his work.

The slow drag of those thick fingers is visualized in Hamilton’s features. He furrows his brows and struggles to keep his eyes open even for a few seconds at once. His breath becomes shallow as Washington thrust his fingers in and out, slow and careful but getting quicker.

“Sir," sighs Hamilton into Washington’s ear. He clasps the taller man’s shoulders with his last remaining strength.

Washington could not explain why, but this sound grounds him. When Hamilton repeats it, he feels a brief tug at his heart, but also a stronger heat in his groin. He only grunts in response.

“I can’t wait," Washington says and takes his fingers out to open his breeches. Hamilton isn’t nearly prepared enough but he won’t stop now unless Hamilton makes him. They have to rely on Hamilton’s pain endurance.

He sighs in relief when his cock springs free. Hamilton locks his gaze on it. His mouth waters and he _wants_ , but averts his gaze to meet Washington’s eyes. “Do it. Don’t mind me," he tells him with the steadiest voice he can manage. And Washington loves his determined, clever eyes. Only he doesn’t know yet of what a nuisance they will mean later.

But now he doesn’t need to think. He leans over the tiny body, supports his crushing weight on the desk, and guides his cock to Hamilton’s entrance. And when he’s inside, his senses ignite. Hamilton presses his lips together, keeps his noise to a minimum despite the pain in his ass. Washington will listen to Hamilton, he will stop if asked, but as long as no negating, English words are used he will enjoy it.

Hamilton’s arse feels even more heavenly than in his memory. This time it’s tighter, muscles contracting around him, trying to stop him from pushing in. Yet he’s relentless. In a stinging but controlled pace he thrusts in. Hamilton doesn’t try to hold back hot tears since he’s focused on holding back his voice and breath by sheer willpower, wherefore his head is red. Thus, wet trails run down his cheeks and sideways into his hair, depending on which way he throws his head.

When Washington is fully seated, deep, _deep_ inside of him, Hamilton releases all the built-up oxygen through a long sigh. That’s all the time he gets before Washington starts to move. The next wave of tears flows and he screams with his mouth shut. It urges Washington on – though his conscience is knocking at the backdoor. He blocks it out, concentrates only on one task.

The walls around him try to relax, yet fail, and tighten again. Out of reflex, Washington sinks his teeth into Hamilton’s shoulder. It doesn’t help the latter handle his voice. Or tears. Or pain. Nevertheless, both relish in it in their own way.

Hamilton holds onto Washington as if his life depends on it and by the way urges him on more and more. He seems limitless, insatiable, as Washington thrusts in a brutal pace and with full force, shifting the small body on the table. Those limits need to be explored one day.

Washington grunts into the flesh between his teeth, nearly breaking the skin. By this time, Hamilton can’t suppress the occasional whine or small cry, but he manages to keep them low enough not to alarm anyone around. He looks a mess. Face red and wet with streams of tears, in contrast eyes shut from pleasure, body completely pliant under his commander – his dear summoner.

Much too quickly, he comes. A tremendous orgasm washes over him, so sudden it steals his voice, silencing his cry. He coats his and Washigton’s shirts in white liquid. Washington doesn’t care, maybe doesn’t even notice. He just pounds harder into Hamilton in pursuit of his own climax.

Hamilton trembles and writhes. His vision goes blank and then only blurry. He can’t focus on anything but the overwhelming feeling in his ass and spent cock. All his senses are numb, even the pain feels different now, but he can’t spare a thought for it. It’s tearing him apart. He knows that he will feel discomfort for many days if not properly taken care of.

But his core aches for every flame it ignites inside of him – may it be from blunt, physical pain, insulting provocation, a warm touch, praise, or affection. He takes what he is given and directs all of his passion on it. And from Washington he expects to get everything he needs to keep his blaze – which for mortals resembles a human heart – alive, a guiding hand, too, ought to prevent it from bursting into an inferno.

Due to his oversensitivity, it’s a fight to stay aware, so he almost misses Washington’s pinnacle if it wasn’t for the pain he feels when Washington spears him on his cock, bringing him back to reality.

“ _Alexander_ ," moans the man softly into Hamilton’s ear and spills his load into the surely wounded boy who seems to absorb him. Rides out his orgasm with a few sharp thrusts, making both men grunt, until they savor moments of stillness.

It’s the first time Washington called him by his chosen first name since the summoning. A couple of salty drops gather in the corners of his eyes. When they eventually join the rest of the watery landscape Hamilton’s face has become, he realizes how much he missed to be mortal. Though his view of life might differ from the average human, he missed to feel as they do; to be fragile, to have your powers limited so you have to _fight_ for something, in a world where effort has a meaning.

He will treasure this short moment – locked down in his core alongside the few outstanding, precious memories he gained through all his lifetimes of service – until he stops to exist entirely. 

After they catch their breath, Washington pulls out, leaving Hamilton empty and leaking. He feels Washington’s release soiling his thighs but also the distracting pain in his behind. His walls are throbbing just the same as his heart.

"Hamilton, you're bleeding!" Washington sounds shocked. He tries to think of a way to help Hamilton but he has no idea.

Hamilton barely reacts. His eyes are still a bit clouded, when he sits up to examine the damage. There's red mixed in the mess between his legs, yet he seems rather sober.

"It's fine. I can fix it," he says plainly. He reaches down but Washington grabs his hand and achieves eye contact. His brows are furrowed.

“I hurt you.”

But Hamilton smiles deliberately sweet. He moves Washington’s hand out of way, reaches down with his own hand again, and lets it hover above the injured place. Suddenly, his hand emits a soft, honey-colored glow. Washington peers until the light fades a few seconds later.

When he offers Hamilton a raised eyebrow, Hamilton retorts with a shrug of his shoulders: “What kind of war demon would I be if I couldn’t heal some wounds?” He looks himself over and his smile turns smug. “You’ve made quite a mess of me. I’m looking forward to a repetition.”

Washington, who finally figured out what to do, walks to his washbasin and returns with a damp cloth. As he wipes Hamilton’s stomach with it, he digs further: “Can you heal others, too?”

Hamilton’s body relaxes under the treatment. “Unfortunately not. There are other demons for such business," he explains, “My powers in this aspect are limited. It’s enough to take more blows than the average mortal, but I can’t re-grow a limb and I die when get shot in a vital spot.”

At that, Washington looks up to meet his eyes, lips pressed into a line. The 'when' in the place where usually an 'if' should be is a small reminder that the demon has died just as many times as he has lived.

Hamilton notices the discomfort and tries to loosen the tension. With a playful smirk he says: "As you see, you can have me in any way you desire, without having to worry. Even this," he moves a hand to his neck where bruises are blossoming in various colors, then his hand glows again and the highest bruises fade away, "is no problem."

"What's with the rest? You didn't heal everything," Washington points out and gestures at the couple of dark hickeys and bite marks across the shoulders and collar bone.

"No one will see them. I'm keeping them as a reminder of this wonderful night." Hamilton accentuates his smug expression by demonstratively fixing his collar.

Washington continues his ministrations on the demon’s lent body. “This shouldn’t have happened…" he mutters to himself.

Hamilton snorts in annoyance. “Still?”

“I was weak. I let myself get manipulated as if I had no will.”

“No. It happened because this _is_ your will. Learn to accept what you are," Hamilton feels as if he is talking to a child, “And you know what? I enjoyed this version of you. It’s just as beautiful as the rest of you. Though, I must admit, playing the Lawrence-card was a bit unfair of me.”

Washington laughs nervously and says in a lighter tone: “You knew exactly what would happen, didn’t you?”

“Yes," is the immediate answer, “And I recommend you to work on this particular issue. You can take your rage out on us, but imagine someone important dares to insult Lawrence’s name?”

The mere imagination makes Washington’s guts twist. “I can control myself when it’s necessary…” he grumbles, yet feeling guilty.

Hamilton takes the washcloth from Washington to wipe Washington’s manhood clean, when the latter finishes his attempt to save their stained shirts – with minimal success.

“That may be true. But you _have_ quite a temper. Some of your aides and guards, who had the misfortune to witness its outburst, are a bit scared. Seeing how close we are made them fear me, too.”

“They think you will tell on them," Washington concludes with a slightly grievous tone in his voice, while ignoring the unpleasant drag across his skin.

Hamilton finishes quickly, throws the cloth into the water, and places a hand on Washington’s cheek. His eyes are filled with warmth and deep understanding. It is impossible not to trust those eyes. And how much Washington wished not to recognize this look, this gesture.

“You have no need to worry about that anymore. I will win their trust in the blink of an eye, you’ll see," promises Alexander, “And as long as you funnel those intense emotions of yours into your demons, instead of revealing them to someone unworthy, everything is going to be better for everyone.”

The boy smiles fondly. That’s when Washington remembers why this situation feels so familiar. Hamilton’s gaze, gesture, posture, even the tone of his voice resemble his dear Martha.

Washington is sure he should be more freaked out at this revelation. Instead, he leans into the small hand and lets the familiarity calm him.

He takes a deep breath. “It feels weird to have someone who knows you better than yourself. Before you two, my wife was the only person to ever understand me.”

“I know," Hamilton says simply.

"I'm going to tell her."

"What!?" Hamilton raises his eyebrows as if he wishes he'd misheard.

"She knows of your existence, of worlds unreachable for the human mind. I married her because she's the smartest woman I know and she's absolutely loyal to me," Washington places his hands on Hamilton’s shoulders and strokes them with his thumbs, "She's earned my trust over and over again. I ask you to trust me with this."

Hamilton exhales. Washington’s heavy gaze makes him compliant. "Okay. I– We trust you. Both of you." Washington smiles. "But… will you tell her about this, too?" He looks at the small space between them.

The smile fades, yet Washington answers confidently: "I think yes. She has the right to know. And she already noticed my inclinations and enjoys to tease me with it, so I don't think it'll hit her that hard."

"You know her the best," Hamilton comments, expression calm and soft now.

Right now, everything feels peaceful, even if the weight of war is constantly hanging above them.

They linger a moment, then he says: “I feel much better now. By morning I’ll be able to work at double speed! Thank you.” He gives Washington a peck on the cheek. “Now, finally change into your nightgown. It’s late.”


	2. Extra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just Hamilton telling Washington about his time with Caesar and some cute details. That's it. Not a whole chapter but a little bonus if you're interested.

The candle is still burning, when both lie in George’s bed, spooning. George has an arm around the middle of Hamilton’s naked frame. He genuinely missed this kind of intimacy. The closeness sets him at ease. Maybe it’s not that bad to have a demon warm your bed.

Washington nuzzles at Hamilton’s soft hair. Only now he notices that Hamilton doesn’t even smell human. There is only the faint smell of burnt sandalwood and old parchment. Pleasant and calming. But weird at the same time. It gives Washington the feeling that the body next to him is nothing but an imagination.

He sighs and says: "Lafayette told me that you served for Gaius Julius Caesar himself."

"I know," the addressee turns around and mumbles into Washington’s skin, "And now you're worried that, as soon as the war is over, I will throw you to the wolves like a useless dog." His voice gets clearer by the time he speaks.

Then, he shifts to look at Washington and places a hand over the other man's beating heart.

“I want to be honest with you. Let me tell you what you cannot know from the history books," they both look at each other, eyes firm, as Hamilton tells his story, “I was disguised as his slave so I was always close by, without ever rousing suspicion. It was totally on me that he died. I fulfilled my part of the agreement, except that I still was his protector. But, as you know, he was a tyrant. He had an interesting mind and ambitions, but after many years of service I grew bored of him. His soul is strong, don’t get me wrong, but that’s not everything we’re after. Thanks to our contract, it was impossible for me to kill him or myself to free me. So, when they wanted to lynch him and I had to protect him, I managed to make one fatal step in the wrong direction and get killed first. I should have never agreed on acting as a slave. He didn’t mistreat me or anything. The problem was it erased my chance of leaving any traces in that time period. It’s a pity.” He said everything in an even, stern tone, only occasionally breaking eye contact before staring into Washington’s eyes again.

On the other hand, Washington knows exactly which thoughts Hamilton can read in his expressive eyes.

At that, Hamilton furrows his eyebrows into an expression of sympathy. He guides his hand up to cup Washington’s face. “But our contract is different; it exceeds the war. You’re not a tyrant. Your soul isn’t dry. I do enjoy your company to the fullest. I know it’s hard to believe the words of a demon when you aren’t completely delusional, but I hope you can trust us.”

George closes his eyes and nods a few times in a row, not trusting his voice yet. When he opens his eyes again, he’s greeted with a warm smile and two shiny orbs. His feelings are complicated. Fear and shock and adoration and hope and the desire to trust all compete with each other and he can’t say which of them is actually rational. But something deep inside of him tells him to trust. And so he does.

“Thank you," Hamilton whispers. He plants a soft kiss on Washington’s lips. The other responds with the same softness. Hamilton feels two arms tighten around him.

Before the kiss can get deeper, Washington parts and locks eyes with the boy. He has one last tricky question that bothers him. “Did…" he swallows, “Did you two do it? You and him?”

Hamilton laughs heartily though Washington doesn’t understand what’s funny.

“I’m flattered that you’re concerned," he answers, “No, we didn’t. Caesar wasn’t interested in me. He had others for that. I didn’t desire him either, though it took its toll on my powers. Are you able to sleep in peace now or is something else haunting you?”

“No, that’s all," Washington says, still uneasy. “Thank you for your honesty. I do really appreciate it. Have a good night, Alexander.” He pulls the smaller man closer and readjusts the blanket to make it comfortable for Hamilton.

“Good night," Hamilton responds. With a snap of his fingers, the candle dies...


End file.
